Eating Out Department

Last Monday evening, My First Wife and I went to a Chinese restaurant. The staff there knows us quite well and we are all friendly with each other. We used to be anyway.

While I was at the buffet loading up my plate, the sweet Chinese waitress came up to me and asked, “What you name again?”

“My name is Paul,” I said.

Then she surprised me. She deliberately rubbed her hand up and down my stomach and asked, “Well, Poarr, you gonna hap one baby—oh two?”

On Thursday night, I accidentally joined WeightWatchers^®.

Blast from the Past Department

Look what I bought today!



How 'bout that?!

Department of Tourism

While we were in Arizona, we only got to spend about two hours walking along Avenida Internacional in Agua Prieta, Sonora, Mexico. I spent a lot of time in Agua Prieta while I grew up. A lot of time. It’s a border town next to Douglas, Arizona. (There’ll be a pop quiz in the morning.)

My First Wife and I were tourists this time, and I was excited to be there again. Because our time was short we didn’t get to do too much. Since I moved away, Agua Prieta has grown from a little border crossing town into a major Mexican metro with more than 100,000 people. It’s 10 times bigger than my American home town.

I got all my haircuts in this little barber shop from age one till I went into the army. Fifty cents every time. It used to be called "Carlos y Carlos Barberia." Now it's called "The Frontier Beauty Salon." (There'll be a pop quiz in the morning.)

Close friends of my parents have owned this little Mexican curio store since the 50s. Many good memories echo there. When we walked in and I introduced us, Mr. Castellanos, still the owner, was so happy to hear my father’s name he nearly cried out loud. All he did was talk about his good friends, my parents. And us kids, too. I bought a lot of baseballs there over the years. 25¢ each.

One reason I took us there was to buy a serape. And we bought a beauty. I've missed them.

They told us to walk, “…because if you take a car, it will take you more than an hour to get back.” This is a four-lane, half-mile line-up of cars waiting to cross from Mexico into the US during a "light" time of the day. On the other side of that tall ugly fence is America.

This photos shows only the pedestrian entry back into the US. Cameras everywhere. Bleeve me, many people walk back and forth. My dad worked here at “the port” for 37 years. He wouldn’t recognize this modern complex. I didn’t. Nor would he understand the extra “stuff” required to re-enter the country. Back in the day, he was a friendly, helpful fixture there. Times change, though. At the reunion, several old friends told us how my dad used to quietly bend a few rules to let kids come back home—after an evening of under-age drinking in Mexico. Those kids were grateful, still to this day.

But in Agua Prieta, if you could see over the top of the bar, you were old enough to buy drinks.

If you stand in Douglas, Arizona, you can plainly see Agua Prieta, Sonora, Mexico. Just peek through the ugly fence.

My collection of bench photos is growing, and this interesting one from Agua Prieta will sit nicely in My Benches Folder.

By the way, the Wal-Mart store in Douglas, Arizona (just three blocks inside the US), is one of the top five busiest Wal-Mart stores in the US. That’s what “everybody” says, anyway.

(Oh, by the way. Take a peek at My Hats Blog. Una nina bonita!)

Hats Department

Well, while you're resting, stop by My Hats Blog for a refreshing photo of the highest order. Lemme know what you think. Thanks.

Back Home Department

You know why you can’t go home again? Because it’s all boarded up!

My First Wife and I had a fantastic vacation in Cochise County, Arizona, last week. Short as it was, it was probably the best vacation we ever had.

The City of Douglas put on a fabulous weekend for three major events. The Cochise County Cycling Classic, a 252 mile bicycle ride; the Two Flags Festival, a cultural event celebrating Mexico and the US; and the Douglas High School All-Class Alumni Reunion. We were there for the reunion.

My last visit to Douglas was 1988—20 years ago. I regret that I have ignored my hometown so much since then. It has really changed, but it hasn’t changed at all.

I had a hard time choosing which photos to post because I took so many. But this little selection represents just about everything.

1122-7th Street, Douglas, Arizona
This is the house where I grew up. It’s empty now and all boarded up, but it lives on in My Other Blog. I was amazed at the compliments I received while we were in Douglas. I was amazed and humbled, completely unprepared for the many, many people who said they have enjoyed “Adventures at 1122-7th Street.”

D Hill is the quintessential landmark of Douglas, Arizona. Many towns in the west do something similar, but none are as great as Douglas’ D. You can see D Hill from 25 miles away. It’s in our blood; and our blood is in it.

When we entered the banquet hall for our last big evening together, this double line of current cheerleaders loved each one of us through. They made us feel like royalty. It was a really creative welcome to begin a really great evening.

Five hundred people registered to attend and I think we were all there, singing YYYY...M...C...A!

The three pics above were taken in the old P-D Mercantile store on G Avenue, filled with displays about Douglas. A tribute to fallen military; dozens of old school photos taken every year in the days before individual photos; Class C professional baseball; photos, maps, newspapers and post cards from Douglas’ early history. So much, much more. Alumni from as far back as 1931 and from as far away as Alaska (and Kansas) shuffled through this hall for hours on end.

In the movie, The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean, Paul Newman majestically descended this flight of stairs. Please note that My First Wife and I have also descended these stairs. The steps and banisters are solid marble—in the famous Gadsden Hotel in Douglas, Arizona. The Mexican bandit, Pancho Villa, once rode his horse up those same steps.

The stained glass art is original and about 100 years old. There’s a lot more of it than shown here, too. Hundreds of notables have stayed in this hotel. The first time I ever watched TV, when I was 12, was in this lobby. By the way, the hotel will give you a fan if it gets too hot in your room.

I took many pictures that feature Mexico, but I chose this one for its comic irony. This fence is the border; it splits the US and Mexico. It’s a real ugly fence. But that’s not the point. See how the tops of the spindles are slanted toward the US? They should be pointed the other way to deter climbers. All the Douglas folks call it a “user-friendly” fence.

On a peaceful, pleasant October afternoon, there is no greater place than under God’s Canopy in Cochise County, Arizona. It really is God's country.

This is the church where I grew up. My parents were members here from 1941 to 1982. (Dad passed away in ’81 and Mom moved back to Kansas in ’82.) Both my parents were leaders and teachers here. All of our family has invested blood, sweat, money and tears—and pot luck dinners—in the First Baptist Church of Douglas, Arizona. It’s located on the only city block in the world that has four churches of different denominations.

When I went inside after a 20 years absence I invested some more tears when memories flashed out of that sanctuary. There are no words to tell how my senses and emotions bubbled up and splashed out my eyes. I’d do it again, too. A reverent moment. A happy moment.

We met the current pastor of the church, and he told us that his father and my father were co-workers in the 30s and 40s. They were Border Patrolmen together then. If that story wasn’t a divine connection that day, in that town, in that church—then nothing ever has been. Lemme tell you something: when the Lord reaches down and paints a blessing on a weekend, it’s a class act. What a Masterstroke.

A special bonus I’ll always remember: My First Wife was patient while I ran around like a little kid. She never complained that she was bored or that she was ready to leave. She let me go and enjoy myself. Secret: I think she had fun, too, meeting some of the Douglas people I’ve mentioned over the years.

PS: Notice my cool Black and Gold shirt. “Once a Bulldog…always a Bulldog!

Business Department

I hope to print my book in the spring of '09. Here are three excerpts I'm adding to "Adventures at 1122-7th Street." Please enjoy.

In the 50s, people prided themselves on the length of their Christmas card list. The more names on your list, the more cool you were. I don’t know where I got the bright idea to sell Christmas cards. But I sold them for a few years. In August and September!

I carried a thick ring binder with several Christmas card samples. “Hmmm, these are beautiful cards, Paul. All of them. I don’t know which one to choose. I guess I’ll take two boxes of these.”

“And I’d like a box of these and one of these.”

I also carried a smaller binder with type style samples and decorative add-ons. My customers chose a card, the type style for their pre-printed names, and the add-ons they’d like. “This is cute. How much extra? Oh, don’t worry about it; go ahead and order it.”

I called on a few teachers, some church folks, most of the ladies in the neighborhood and a few random homes where I wasn’t afraid to knock.

I was always surprised when the ladies invited me in and looked over my cards. Then they ordered a box. Or two! An order of three or four boxes was not uncommon. In fact, an order of one box was rare. Then they gave me some money, which I kept in a match box hidden in the dining room buffet.

My business partner was Mom. On the night before deadline, we sat together at the dining room table and she carefully completed the big order form for me. She wrote out a check and whatever was left in that match box was mine to keep. I thought that was about the neatest deal ever conceived. Next day, I rode my bicycle to the post office and mailed everything off. I think I had to pay extra for the thick envelope. Maybe five cents. About the middle of November the Railway Express truck delivered two or three good-sized boxes of beautiful, custom Christmas cards.

Then I delivered them to all my customers. (Mom took some to her workplace; Dad a couple to his.) “Oh, don’t these look just beautiful!” In just a day or two, I was done with it and had some spending money to boot.

I sold Christmas card for three or four years and Mom always did the paperwork. She never made a mistake, and, as far as I know, no one ever called to complain about quality or (my) service. Mom and I should have gone into business.

* * * * * * *

In the middle-50s; Johnson Cleaners burned down. So naturally, all the dry cleaning waiting to get cleaned and all the dry cleaning waiting to get picked up went up in smoke. Pretty soon everything, including the building, got scooped up and hauled out to the dump. About the time to re-open, the Johnson’s appealed to all the Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts to round up as many hangers as we could find. They promised us a dime a dozen.

We got old ones and new ones; white ones and plain ones; bent ones and straight ones and when Johnson’s reopened they were back in the dry cleaning (and hanging) business again. There were more than enough hangers to get re-started, thanks to all the Douglas scouts. Charlie Ables, who was in my Cub Pack, won a prize for collecting the most hangers. We all did such a good job that I think the Johnson’s are still in business.

* * * * * * *

When I was in the 6th Grade, they told us we had to take these forms to all our neighbors and get magazine subscriptions. If we sold this many we’d get a football or something. If we sold that many we could get a Red Ryder BB Gun. And for just this many a Schwinn Bicycle! The girls could get girl stuff.

I didn’t sell any because my parents had more magazines coming to the house than anyone in town. My own parents didn’t even buy any magazines. But somebody must have because that pesky magazine fundraising company is still in business.

* * * * * * *

There’s a joke floating around Texas. “Hey, you want a coke?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind?”

“Dr Pepper.”

There was a time when all soft drinks were sold in two kinds of bottles. It didn’t matter what you called them—Pepsi, 7-Up, Orange Crush, RC Cola, Dr Pepper, Dad’s Root Beer—they all came in coke bottles or pop bottles. Now, if you purchased a soft drink from a machine (5¢), you were supposed to hang around there till you finished drinking it. Then you were supposed to return your empty bottle to a rack or box near the machine. However, when you bought a bottle of pop in a store (usually 8¢ to 10¢), it was okay to take the bottle with you because you had paid a few cents extra for deposit on the bottle. So then later, return the empty bottle to any store and get your deposit back. Or use the empty bottle as deposit on the next one. Or collect several empty bottles and return them all at once for some nice pocket change. In the 50s, bottle deposits ranged from 2¢ to 5¢. With prices like that, I should have gone into the returned bottle business.

* * * * * * *

You may want to visit Adventures at 1122-7th Street for hours and hours of delightful reading.